


Glass Heart (Shattering to Pieces)

by Hannitah



Series: Take a look behind the curtain [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: But it's not really connected to that episode, Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Monsters are Real, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Set after s06e15 The French Mistake, TW: self-harm and a reference to past non-con (nothing graphic), goes AU in SPN season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannitah/pseuds/Hannitah
Summary: A series of brutal murders leads the BAU team to Springfield, Illinois, and they once again seek the help of Sam and Dean. The fact that the King of Hell looks like a sleazy British businessman isn’t the only revelation the BAU has to deal with, and Sam learns some secrets of his own.
Series: Take a look behind the curtain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750519
Comments: 32
Kudos: 300





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, all rights go to their respective owners. I’m just doing this for fun.
> 
> Title from the song by Tommee Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz

“Anderson, FBI. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Hotch ends the call, tired at hearing Dean’s message again. He dials another number.

“This is Sam’s phone. He can’t come right now ‘cause he’s busy tending to his Disney princess hair.” Dean’s voice sounds much more amused and carefree in this recording, reminding Hotch of a side of the brothers he hasn’t gotten more than a glimpse off. And what a giant pain-in-the-ass Dean can be.

Still, he could really use their expertise right now.

The door to the conference room opens, and Morgan, Prentiss and Reid file in. Garcia slips in a minute later, her blonde hair bouncing in several small pigtails.

Hotch barely waits until they’re all seated. “As you all know, Rossi is interrogating Kevin Abrams today, the man who raped and killed seven women three years ago. JJ just called, Henry’s sick - nothing serious.” He holds up a hand to stall the questions already on his team’s lips. “But she’s taking a few days off. Which means we’re two men short for this case.” He motions at the pictures on the screen. The images of two smiling, brunette women contrast sharply with the photos of three crime scenes.

“Twelve days ago, Amanda Williams was killed in the Washington Park in Springfield, Illinois. She was walking home from work around midnight, when she was attacked and killed with a single blow to the head. Five days ago, Carmen Morales was beaten to death in the same park when she was out late, walking her dog. Then, early this morning, another woman was found in an alley just one block from the park. She was beaten so badly the police has trouble identifying her.”

“What weapon did the Unsub use to hit her over the head with?”, Morgan asks.

“None. In all three cases, the damage was only ever caused by fists.”

“He did all that” Emily gestures at the pictures “with his bare hands?”

“Yes.” Hotch gives his team a moment to absorb the shock before he continues. “Reid, you read the documents Sam gave you, right?” Documents might have been a bit of a stretch – it was more of a collection of knowledge and some myths that are suspected to be true, handed over on a flash drive by the younger Winchester brother.

“Yes. Do you think it’s not human?” Reid leans forward curiously. “Is there any evidence of that?”

“Nothing so far, but I need you to keep an eye open for it. Okay, wheels up in thirty.”

The team files out, but Hotch holds Garcia back.

When the others are out of reach, he talks quietly. “Garcia, I haven’t been able to reach Sam and Dean. You’ve spoken to them after the last case, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But I didn’t give them any classified information, just a hint about a possible case. Or two.” She’s looking at him wide-eyed.

“Relax, you’re not in trouble. Do you know where they are now?”

“No, I’m- wait, you don’t think they disappeared, do you?”

“I’m not sure what to think”, Hotch admits. “Did they give you any indication about what they were going to do next?”

Garcia frowns. “Not really, no. Wait, there was one comment. It sounded like they had something big going on. But I don’t know any details.”

“Keep an eye open for them. And for anything that would qualify as ‘big’ in their world.”

~*~

As always, the team used the time on the jet to familiarize themselves with the case and go over the files.

“The level of violence is escalating quickly. He went from a single blow to this… carnage” Morgan gestures at the picture of the latest victim “in under two weeks.”

“The Unsub displays great physical strength”, Reid says. “Yet he uses blitz attacks. Normally, physically fit people are considered attractive, so he should have no problem using a ruse on his victims, but he doesn’t. He’s might lack the confidence, the social skills, or he has some physical attribute that scares people off. Like a prominent scar.”

“Amanda Williams, 25, works in a bar”, Prentiss reads. “She always walked through the park after her shift. Carmen Morales, 31, is originally from Atlanta. She was visiting her brother who moved to town last year. Morales is clearly a victim of opportunity, but what about Williams? He could’ve followed her, picked that place. A park at night is quiet, dark, abandoned. Good place to wait for someone.”

Hotch nodded. “Prentiss, Morgan, you go to the first and second crime scenes. Reid, you take the most recent one. I will head to the police station to set up. Maybe they’ve managed to identify her by the time we arrive.”

~*~

Detective Miller’s handshake is firm, his eyes sharp under a receding hairline. “Agent Hotchner, thank you for coming so quickly. To be honest, I’m in over my head here. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” He glances behind Hotch. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“At the crime scenes. We didn’t want to lose any time.”

“Right. I’ve set you up over there.” He leads Hotch over into a corner, where the boards are set up, and several files are lying on a large table. “You can also use the conference room right here, it’s just a bit small for two boards and a whole team.”

“Thanks, that’s fine. Do we know the identity of the last victim?”

“Maybe.” He grabs a picture of a brunette women in her late twenties. “That’s Kara Lewis. Her husband, David Lewis, came in half an hour ago, after a colleague of his wife called. She didn’t show up for work today, and her phone and wallet were at her house. We’re checking medical records right now; we’re hoping something will show. If we have to wait for the DNA analysis…”

“That’s too long. She does fit his type. Is the husband still here?”

“Yes, I’ve asked him to wait in my office, I figured you’d want to talk to him.”

Hotch looks through the office windows and takes a minute to study the man. He alternates between running his hands through his dirty blonde hair and drumming his fingers on his thigs. He jumps up from his chair when Hotch enters the door, followed by the detective.

His eyes grow wide when he takes in the agent towering over him. “What- what’s going on?”

“Mr. Lewis, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner from the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Please, have a seat.”

“FBI?”, he questions nervously. He sinks down onto the chair again, and Hotch takes the other visitor’s chair, while Miller sits down behind his desk.

“Mr. Lewis, when was the last time you saw your wife?”

“Yesterday evening. Why’s the FBI here?”

“I know this is hard, but please try to focus. Did anything out of the ordinary happen last night?”

“She came home late from work, but that’s not uncommon. She works too much. We- we had a fight. And she wanted to take a walk to clear her head. I went to bed before she got home, and she was already at work when I got up.”

“Your wife’s colleague said she didn’t come to work today.”

“That- that must be a misunderstanding.”

“Is it possible that she never came home last night?”

“No, no, she always comes home.” His fingers clench and unclench.

“Would her walk have brought her close to the Washington Park?”

“The park? Yes, but why-“ His eyes widen in understanding. “That’s where those women were killed, isn’t it? But not Kara. Not her.”

“Mr. Lewis, we don’t know anything for certain yet, but we did find a woman there early this morning.”

“No.” The husband stands up abruptly. “It’s not her. I- I’m going home now, and wait for her. She’ll come home. She’ll come.” He turns around and leaves, slamming the door closed.

Miller blows out a breath. “We’re just gonna let him leave?”

“For now. He’ll be clinging to the hope that his wife’s still alive until we show him proof that she’s not. And until then, he won’t be of much use to us. We need those dental records.”

~*~

The crime scene is empty except for two uniformed officers by the time Reid arrives. That’ fine by him, this way he doesn’t have anyone getting in his way. He takes in the scene carefully. The narrow alley is decently lit now, but must’ve been totally dark last night, with no streetlamps. Blood is smeared on the street and one wall, some splatters reaching over to a lone dumpster.

His phone rings, and he quickly answers it. “Reid.”

“Hey, Boy Wonder, how’s it going?”

“It’s messy.”

“There’s not much left on the first and second crime scenes”, Morgan says. “It’s already cleaned up. But they’re pretty isolated at night.”

“The first one especially”, Emily chimes in. “I’d even say it’s the best place to ambush someone along Williams’ way home. The path leads around some trees and bushes, so even during the day, it’s not easily visible. The second one doesn’t have any bushes to shield it, but there are no streetlights, and it’s easy to surprise someone in the dark.”

“What about the dog?”, Reid asks.

“It was one of those small terriers”, Morgan explains. “Not much of a guard dog. He was found wandering the park the next day. He was unharmed but seemed skittish and aggressive.”

Reid hums thoughtfully.

“What is it?”, Morgan asks.

“I don’t know, I just feel like I’m missing something.” He walks a few steps to get a different angle on the scene.

“Okay. Start with what you know so far, kid.”

“It’s a narrow alley, no streetlamps, a dumpster. Good place to ambush someone, but why would she walk into such an alley in the first place? She was killed here, there’s a lot of blood, including splatter on one wall. He left her lying here like trash.”

“Did he leave anything behind?”, Emily asks.

“If he did, it’s indistinguishable from the trash. I don’t think CSU is going to find anything useful here.”

“Great.” Morgan sighs. “Well, let’s head to the station, see what Hotch’s got.”

~*~

Once back at the station, Hotch, Reid, Prentiss and Morgan share their knowledge. Detective Miller walks up to their table, a file in hand.

“We got the medical records”, he explains. “It’s Kara Lewis. She had a car accident, still has two pins in her leg.”

“She was the only one not carrying an ID, and was too beat up to identify. Coincidence?” Morgan raises his eyebrows.

“We have to inform the husband”, Prentiss says.

“Yes”, Hotch agrees. “Let’s hope he’s more cooperative now than he was earlier.”


	2. Chapter two

“A freaking TV show”, Dean murmurs. “I still can’t believe it. I need a drink.” He sinks into one of the chairs in Bobby’s kitchen.

Sam rolls his eyes, but he, too, is glad when Bobby pulls out a bottle and pours them three glasses.

“Thanks.”

They drink in silence, each mulling over the events.

Sam is the first to break it. “So, Bobby, did anything interesting happen on your end?”

“Rufus killed a catoblepas in Wisconsin.”

Sam almost chokes on his whiskey. He coughs, setting down his glass. “Are you sure? They’re rare even in Ethiopia, and I’ve never heard of them leaving Africa.”

“That’s what I said. Looks like the monsters are still acting weird.”

“Great.” Dean frowns. “We got weird monsters and Cas just used us as a diversion for a pissed-off archangel and then left before he could answer any questions.”

Sam sighs and slips his phone from his pocket. Now that they’re finally back in their own world, he should get normal reception again. A notice flashes on the screen.

“The feds tried to call us three times.” He looks up and meets Dean’s and Bobby’s sharp gazes. As if on cue, his phone rings. “Yes.”

“Sam, finally!”, Garcia exclaims. “We’ve been trying to call you! Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, we just got stuck in an alternate universe. What’s up?”

“… I definitely want to hear that story, but not now. How fast can you get to Springfield, Illinois? The team could really use your help.”

Sam grimaces. He’s in no hurry to get back under the scrutinizing gazes of the feds, but he can’t say no when people are getting hurt. “We can be there in the morning.”

“Thank you! I’ll send you the case files, and you should get in touch with Hotch and coordinate with him.”

“Thanks.” Sam hangs up and meets his brother’s scowl.

“The feds get in over their heads again?”, Dean asks.

“Looks like it. Garcia’s sending us the files, we should head out. It’s in Springfield, Illinois.”

“So much for the drink.” Dean tosses back the rest of his glass and puts it on the table with a pang.

“Don’t let your anger out on my furniture, boy”, Bobby scolds.

Dean looks chastised, and Bobby makes shooing motions with his hands. “What’re you waiting for, then? You have a job to do. I’ll keep an eye out for anything angel-related or weird – weirder than usual. You try not to piss ‘em feds off too much, they could still be useful.”

Sam smirks at Dean’s grumbling when they head out the door and into the night.

~*~

Yellow police tape is flapping in the wind, and despite the early hour, the officers have trouble holding back curious onlookers. Dean parks Baby just beyond the crowd. After Hotchner’s call about an hour ago, they changed into their fed-suits at a gas station, grabbed a coffee and drove straight here.

The crowd parts for the brothers, intimidated by their size and their fake badges. They nod at the officers guarding the scene and duck under the tape. The rays of the morning sun don’t reach down into the narrow alley yet, and floodlights are used to illuminate the grisly scene.

“That’s just nasty”, Dean comments as they step closer to what’s left of the body. It’s a twisted mess of blood, flesh and broken bones.

“Who are you?”, a detective asks. Before they can speak up, Hotchner joins them.

“Detective Miller, these are Agent Anderson and Agent Tapping. Since our usual team’s two men down, they’re kind enough to help us out.”

Miller’s scowl drops. “Thanks. We can use all the help we can get.”

Dean only now notices that besides Hotchner, Morgan is the only other agent on the scene, inspecting something behind the dumpster. Hotchner must have picked up his look and says: “Reid and Prentiss are at the station.”

Morgan walks over to them, holding something up. “Found her purse. Money, phone, everything seems to be here. Her name was Amy Taylor, 23.”

“High heels, a short skirt, a purse – she could have planned to spend her Friday night in a club”, Hotchner speculates.

The detective answers something, but Dean’s attention is drawn to his little brother. Sam is walking deeper into the alley, towards the dead end. “What is it?”, Dean asks, following.

“Do you smell that?”

Under the smell of gore and the wafts of garbage blowing over from the dumpsters, Dean can barely make out another scent. “Oh, crap.”

“Yeah.” Sam kneels down and runs his fingers over a dirty yellow powder. “Sulphur.”

~*~

The officers and detectives have gathered around their temporary ‘office’ space. After finding the newest victim only one day after the last, everyone knows how time-sensitive it is.

“We’re looking for a white man”, Hotch starts. “Between 30 and 40 years old. He shows unusual physical strength, and the level of violence is clearly escalating each time he kills. He is spiraling out of control, which means we have to act quickly.”

Reid continues. “His first victim, Amanda Williams, was always taking the same route through the park after her shift ended. It is quite possible that he planned that first murder, waiting for her at a secluded place and quickly overpowered her. This shows that despite his strength, he has low confidence in his abilities. That is now changing. He’ getting bolder with every kill, taking more time and being more brutal. The third victim, Kara Lewis, was found in a dark alley. It’s highly unlike she walked in there on her own, so he either used a ruse, or more likely, overpowered her and forced her inside.”

“We’re still questioning Amy Taylor’s friends”, Morgan says. “But it looks like she was at a club when she disappeared. He took a much higher risk grabbing her there. But while he beat her as severely as the third victim, he left her ID behind. That means he’s not worried about us identifying her, as we suspected in Kara Lewis’ case.”

“He used blitz attacks instead of a ruse”, Prentiss explains. “It means he has poor social skills; he doesn’t have a stable relationship and can’t hold a steady job. His recent boost in self-esteem will also transfer to his everyday life, showing for instance in bursts of aggression that he, until now, kept hidden. He also has a very poor opinion on women, as evidenced by the way he just left the bodies lying around like trash, in the latter cases next to literal trash.”

“Please circulate this profile in the media”, Hotch concludes. “Someone in his life will recognize him. Thank you.”

With that, the crowd disperses, and Sam and Dean, who had been lurking in the background, make their way over to them.

“We’re dealing with a demon here. You can forget the age and no steady job shit. He could be anyone”, Dean says.

“Demons used to be human, right?”, Reid asks rhetorically. “So, to a certain degree, the profile will match him. And, if the man he possesses has a stable environment, people around him will notice the behavioral changes.”

“Fine”, Dean grumbles. “But remember, this is not your run-of-the-mill serial killer. And he could jump ship if we get too close.”

“Do you still have the anti-possession charms we gave you?”, Sam asks. Everyone nods, patting their pockets or chests.

“Good. Don’t lose them. We also spiked the coffee with holy water. At least this way we know that everyone who drinks it is not possessed.”

“Is there another way to recognize if someone is possessed other than holy water?”, Prentiss asks.

“You can say ‘Christo’”, Sam explains. “Demons’ eyes will turn completely black when they hear that.”

“Not exactly inconspicuous”, Morgan says. Sam just shrugs.

“What if we meet a demon?”, Hotch asks.

“Run the other way”, Dean suggests.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Holy water will burn them, hopefully give you enough time to perform an exorcism. I included one in the files.”

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos",_ Reid recites.

“That’s the one. It sends the demons straight back to Hell.”

“What happens to the people after an exorcism?”, Hotch asks.

The brothers exchange a look. “Depends”, Dean answers. “Some of ‘em survive, others don’t. Depends on whether the body was injured, and how long he was possessed.”

“What about guns and knives?” Morgan wants to know.

“They will kill the host, not the demon”, Dean explains. “Unless you got one of these.” He opens his jacket just enough to present an angel blade.

“Or this.” Sam shows the demon knife. “Kills the demon and the host.”

“A last resort, then. Priority is to save the people”, Hotch says.

Sam tilts his head. “Demon ride their hosts hard. It’s… if an exorcism isn’t possible, death can be a mercy. Believe me.”

The agents stare at him in shock, while Dean looks gutted. Hotch nods slightly, as if he figured something out. “Reid, you work on the geographical profile. Prentiss, talk to Amy Taylor’s friends. Maybe someone saw something. Morgan, victimology. And have Garcia look for any connections between the victims. I’ll talk to David Lewis again, he should be getting over his initial shock by now.” He throws a glance at the brothers and hesitates. Dean jumps in.

“I’ll stay here, go through the files, see if you missed something demon-related.”

“I’ll come with you”, Sam nods at Hotch.


	3. Chapter three

The drive to the Lewis’ house is spend mostly in silence, the purr of the government-issue SUV strange compared to the Impala’s familiar growl. When they come to a stop, Sam turns to the agent. “Just do what you always do, Agent Hotchner. I’ll follow your lead.”

He regards Sam for a moment before he nods. “Call me Hotch.”

Sam has to suppress a grin as he follows Hotch to the house.

David Lewis seems marginally put together as he invites them inside. It’s modern, but homely, fitting perfectly into Kara’s image as a young and successful architect. Still, Sam feels uneasy as they settle in the living room.

“Mr. Lewis”, Hotch starts. “I know we already talked a bit yesterday, but it would be very helpful if we could go over that evening again.”

“Yes… yes, of course.” He nods.

“You said you had a fight. What was it about?”

“The usual. She works- worked too much, and I’m… in between jobs right now. It’s not easy, you know?” The husband runs a hand through his hair nervously.

“What happened then?”

“She said she needed air, and just turned around and left.”

“Did she grab her phone or her wallet?” Hotch’s dark eyes bore in the husband.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her keys, they’re always lying on the sideboard next to the door.”

“Did she do that often, taking a walk in the middle of an argument?”

“Sometimes”, Lewis admits.

“And what did you do after she left?”

“I… I had a drink and went to bed. I really thought- I was so sure she’d come back.” He buries his head in his hands.

Sam had stayed silent until now, observing the conversation. Something about that man bugs him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He glances at Hotch, but the agent’s face is too damn unreadable.

“Mr. Lewis, did you and your wife know each other a long time?”, Sam asks.

The husband looks up, confusion on his face quickly morphing into sadness again. “We were high school sweethearts. Married in our second year of college.”

Sam smiles sympathetically. “You must’ve been really proud of her, becoming such a successful architect.”

Annoyance flashes over his face for just a second. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Special Agent Tapping, also FBI.”

“Right.” Sarcasm swings in the word. Sam studies him intently. Lewis narrows his eyes, stands up abruptly. “Agents, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.”

“Of course.” Hotch glances at Sam as he stands up and walks past Lewis to the living room door, slipping one hand into his pocket.

Sam also gets up. “There is one more thing.” Hotch turns around at Sam’s voice.

“Christo.”

Lewis’ eyes turn black as ink, and his face twists in a snarl. “I should’ve known you weren’t real FBI Agents”, he spits out. “Too bad for you.”

Sam pulls the demon knife and settles in a fighting stance, but the demon just laughs. He waves a hand, shoving Sam back onto the couch.

“Sit down, hunter, and enjoy the show.” Lewis’ turns around. Hotch’s gun is drawn, leveled at his heart. He steps closer, putting himself squarely between Sam and the agent. A flick of a wrist, and the gun clatters to the ground. “What’s your plan here, Mr. Lewis? Oh, wait, you’re not really David Lewis, so what should I call you?” Hotch keeps talking, but Sam tunes him out. He intensifies his struggles, but barely manages to move his arm, let alone stand up. _He’s gonna kill him. Hotch is gonna die because of me. I should’ve just left, I shouldn’t have called him out on it, he’s gonna kill Hotch, **I can’t let him kill Hotch-**_

Lewis has his left hand balled into a fist, keeping Hotch rooted in place, and draws back his right arm for a strike.

“No!” Instinct kicks in, Sam stumbles to his feet, throws his hand forward and pulls. Power surges through him, singing of freedom after being contained for so long. The demon flies through the air, hitting the wall hard. A few framed pictures clatter to the ground, but he manages to stay on his feet.

The room freezes for just a moment, Lewis and Hotch staring at Sam with wide eyes, while Sam himself tries to understand what just happened.

“Impossible!”, the demon hisses, straightening up.

The hand with the demon knife rises automatically, and Lewis flinches back. He disappears between one blink and the next.

“Sam.” He blinks, and Hotch is standing in front of him, studying him with pinched eyebrows. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“Huh?” His lips part slightly, and he feels a warm liquid dripping down, tastes the sickly-sweet blood. Self-disgust rises in him, or maybe it’s just his breakfast, but he finds himself stumbling through the door and over to the bathroom he spotted earlier. His knees hit the tiled floor painfully, knife clatters down as he grabs the toilet bowl. Vomit mixes with drops of blood, and he heaves even after he expelled everything.

His stomach eventually settles down, but ice is crawling through his chest, spreading slowly but steadily. He props his forehead against his arm, tries to get his breathing under control.

Footsteps behind him, he tenses instinctually, then remembers that Hotch is here too. A glass of water appears in his peripheral vision, and he takes it gratefully and rinses his mouth.

“Feeling better?” Hotch’s voice is soft, laced with concern and confusion.

Sam nods, then shakes his head. He gets to his feet. A thousand thoughts are racing through his head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean to-“ He shakes his head. “He wanted to kill you. I couldn’t let- but I didn’t mean to… I swore I’d never use them again.”

“Sam.” Hotch waits until Sam’s eyes meet his. “I don’t understand how you did what you did, but I do know that you just saved my life. Thank you.”

Sam just stares at him, wide-eyed. How did he do that? He’d never managed it without… “I didn’t drink any, I swear. I’m clean. I promised.”

“It’s okay, Sam, I believe you.” Sam closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. “Clean yourself up, the others will be here any minute. We’ll talk later.”

The agent throws Sam another look before stepping out the door and leaving him alone.

The others. _Dean_. Sam forces himself to breathe despite the icy claws around his lungs. He leans over the sink and splashes water on his face, wiping away the last traces of blood. _It means you’re a monster, Sam, a vampire._

_No. I didn’t drink any demon blood. Dean will believe me. He has to believe me._

~*~

The files are nasty. Even after everything he’s seen on Earth and in Hell, Dean’s stomach still churns at the sight of the crime scene photos.

Reid mutters beside him. “Sulphur, of course!”

“What?” Dean looks up, glad for the momentary distraction.

“I had this feeling I was missing something at the third crime scene. It smelled of rotten eggs, of sulphur, but I didn’t recognize it, I just attributed it to the general smell of garbage.”

“Yeah, well, it happens to the best of us.” Dean shrugs and focuses back on his file. He goes over all scenes and witness statements meticulously, but apart from the sulphur, the agents didn’t seem to have missed anything.

He stands up and stretches out his sore back. “I’m getting coffee, d’you want some, too?”

“Yes, please”, Reid says distractedly, and Morgan nods as well.

The hunter makes his way over to the small kitchenette and pours three cups, emptying the pot. He puts on another, using the opportunity to spike it with holy water again. So far, they didn’t have any luck, but at least most of the officers are definitely not possessed.

He wanders back over to the table again, balancing the cups in his hands. Reid quickly clears enough space on the table for him to put them down. “Thanks.”

Dean takes a sip of the lukewarm coffee and grimaces. His eyes land on a file he hasn’t reviewed yet. “What’s this?”, he asks.

Morgan glances over. “Pictures of the crowd at the crime scenes. Some of them like to come back and watch, relive their crimes.”

“Great.” He opens the folder and has barely looked at the first picture when Morgan’s phone rings.

“Yeah, Hotch.” He tenses, and Reid and Dean throw him alarmed looks. “What? Are you okay? …Yes, we’re on our way.”

Morgan snaps his phone shut and turns to grab his jacket. “David Lewis is possessed. They’re waiting for us at his house. C’mon!”

~*~

The bathroom door falls shut, and for a few minutes, the house is silent. Then, the sound of running water comes through the closed door, and Hotch lets out a relieved breath. At least Sam seems to be calming down.

Hotch himself is still teetering between the primal fear of almost dying and quiet wonder at Sam’s actions. Throwing someone into the wall without touching him… It should be impossible, the rational part of his mind supplies. Sam’s human. Isn’t he?

The rumbling of engines catches his attention, car doors opening and closing, then several sets of footsteps are running up the driveway. Morgan, Dean and Reid come barreling through the door.

“What happened? Where’s Sam?” Dean looks around frantically.

Hotch motions at the bathroom door, and Winchester is pushing past him before he can get another word out.

“Hotch?” Morgan steps closer, a worried look on his face. “What happened?”

“David Lewis is possessed. He was holding us in place with telekinesis, until Sam threw him across the room without touching him.” Did he really just say that? In what world does that sentence make even an ounce of sense?

“That’s impossible.” Morgan echoes Hotch’s earlier thoughts.

“To be honest, I’m not sure who was more surprised, the demon, Sam, or me.”

Sirens cut off in front of the house, and officers burst through the doors. Hotch gives out directions, feeling himself calm down with the familiar routine. Searching a house, no matter who lived in it, is something he understands. Only when everyone is following their tasks does he remember the Winchesters again. He knocks on the door, and it swings open under his touch. It’s empty, the window wide open.

“Reid!” He steps closer to his agent, making sure no one can overhear them. “They bolted out the window. Have Garcia find them, and talk to Sam. We need to find out what’s going on.”

~*~

Dean only needs one good look at his brother to know what’s happening. “Sammy…” He shakes his head.

Sam flinches under his gaze, but he can’t deal with that right now, he can already hear police sirens coming down the road. He quickly opens the window. It’s barely big enough for them to fit through, but a tree is shielding it from view from the street.

“C’mon, Sam, we’re leaving.” He all but pushes a protesting Sam out the window and climbs out after him, landing lightly on his feet. They hop the fence to the neighbors and stroll out of their garden, playing the part of curious onlookers until they reach the car.

They drive in heavy silence, Sam’s shoulders hunched, while Dean can barely hold in his anger. He pulls into the first motel he sees, scaring the poor clerk half to death when he comes in to book a room.

Sam’s already got their bags and drops them on the beds in their new room. Dean wheels on him the second the door is closed.

“What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?! I mean, demon blood? Using your powers? I thought we were past this!”

Sam flinches back, but visibly forces himself to hold Dean’s gaze. “I didn’t drink any demon blood and I didn’t mean to use my powers. I didn’t even realize what happened until Hotch said that my nose was bleeding.”

“Really? Really, Sam?” Betrayal rears its ugly head. “Who is it this time? Which demon are you sucking dry? Don’t lie to me again, not about this.”

“I didn’t drink any, Dean, I swear! This can’t be happening.” Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t drink any blood, I shouldn’t have been able to do that. This can’t be real. It can’t be real. It’s not…” Sam’s mumbling switches into Enochian in the middle of his sentence.

Dean curses and grabs his brother’s arms, forcing him to look at Dean. “Don’t check out on me now, Sam, you hear me? This is real!” Sam tries to flinch away, but Dean digs his fingers in, shakes his brother gently. “This is real. We got you out.”

Sam turns pleading eyes on him. “I didn’t drink any blood, Dean. You have to believe me.” The quiet words hit him right in the chest, deflating his anger. He lets go of his brother and sinks onto a bed.

“You just used your powers, Sam. How can I believe you?”


	4. Chapter four

Reid knocks on the motel room door, staring anxiously at a spot where the blue paint has peeled off to reveal a stained gray layer beneath. Without a sound, Dean’s angry face appears at the door.

“Oh, it’s you.” He waves Reid inside, studying him with a calculated look. “I’m getting a drink. Keep an eye on him, would ya?” He points at Sam and leaves without waiting for an answer. The door slams shut, and Reid can see Sam bodily flinching away from the sound. Or maybe from his angry brother.

Reid watches as Sam shakes it off and begins to purposely move through the room, spraying symbols onto the walls and floor. Making sure that the hunter has his back turned to him, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Emily.

_I’m with Sam. Dean’s gone to find a bar. He’s in a bad mood, but maybe you could try talking to him? -Reid._

He sits down on one of the chairs and watches as Sam pours a line of salt in front of the door and windows. That seems to be the last part of the warding, as Sam lingers uncertainly in the middle of the room before sitting down on the other side of the table.

Reid's soft voice breaks the silence. “What happened at the Lewis’ house?”

“I have demon blood”, Sam blurts out.

Reid blinks at the apparent not sequitur.

“This demon fed me his blood when I was a baby, although I didn’t know about it for years. It… gives me powers. I dreamt about Jessica’s death for weeks before it happened, but I didn’t- I thought they were nightmares, y’know, my nerves about proposing somehow mixed with the approaching anniversary of mom’s death. They weren’t. She died exactly like she did in my dreams.” Sam closes his eyes for a moment, takes in a few steadying breaths. Reid can only stare, a shiver running down his back.

“I could’ve developed more powers, I saw it on the others, but I mostly just had visions of people dying. They stopped for a while, after we killed the demon, but then Dean died…” his voice wavers. “And Ruby came, and she showed me how to use my powers to exorcise demons, to even kill them, without killing the host. All I had to do was drink more demon blood. I know how that sounds, believe me. And I know she was a demon and Dean told me not to trust her when he came back, but she saved me. I… I was helping people, I needed to prove that… that I could use them for good, that I wasn’t _evil_.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

Sam seems to deflate, staring at the table. Reid’s mind is busy sorting through all the information he just got, trying to decide what to address now and what to table for later. There was so much hidden meaning in that rant.

“I’m assuming you mean that quite literally.”

Sam’s gaze flickers to him before falling back to the table. “Yes. Ruby played me. I was so sure of myself, of doing the right thing… I was so high on the blood, on the power, that I… I released the devil.”

Reid sucks in a breath at the quiet admission. He’s not sure what to say to that, so he latches onto the topic he understands. “You got addicted to the blood.”

“Yes.” Suddenly Dean’s _“keep an eye on him”_ makes so much more sense.

“Sam, look at me.” Tired eyes rise to meet his. “Did you relapse?”

“No.” A tired headshake. “I didn’t. I’m clean.”

“Okay. I believe you.” He does, even while a little voice in the back of his mind wonders if it just might be wishful thinking, him wanting someone to get out from under his addiction.

“Dean doesn’t.”

“We won’t be able to prove that you didn’t drink any, but we can try to convince him.”

“We?” The quiet hope threatens to break Reid’s heart.

“Yes. We. Sam, I’m not going to lie to you. I can’t condone the drinking of blood – of any type of blood – but I do know what it’s like to be an addict. I want to help you.”

“How?”

“Let’s start by how they work. You said that the first time you had a vision, you thought it was a nightmare.”

Sam nods and begins to talk. His voice is steady, almost clinically detached at some points, and wavers at others. He starts with his own visions, explaining every little detail he remembers, including the splitting headaches; then he moves on to the other ‘special children’ and their powers. Reid feels nausea rise as he hears about the death match the kids were dropped into, and about Sam’s death.

“But- that’s impossible. You’re alive. How?”

“Dean made a deal. He sold his soul for me. Got one year.”

“You mean a demon deal? And his soul would have to go to Hell?”

“Yes. His soul did go to Hell. I couldn’t save him.”

Reid’s mind stutters to a halt. “I don’t understand.”

“The angels were the ones that saved him.” He talks about the angel he so casually calls Cas, before coming back to Ruby and her role in killing Lilith and starting the Apocalypse.

Reid somehow manages to shove aside his emotions and focus on the facts, needling Sam for more and more details until he feels like he’s gotten a good look at the bigger picture. It’s mind-blowing.

“After the Apocalypse started, did you drink any more blood or use your powers in any way?”

Sam hesitates before nodding. “Famine – the horseman. I killed him after draining the demons he sent after me. And… before I said ‘yes’.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We, uh, we couldn’t just let the Apocalypse happen, so we came up with a plan. Lock the devil back up. Since we couldn’t force him back in, and I’m… his true vessel, I said ‘yes’. I let him possess me, took back control and jumped.”

Reid stares open-mouthed. Sam jumped. Into the cage. With the devil. Willingly.

What. The. Hell.

“Do you have a drink?” It’s not what he really wants – God, he hasn’t craved sweet oblivion like this in months… But he knows he can’t take that.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but- are you an alcoholic?”

“No. It’s… Dilaudid”, he confesses.

“Okay. Just had to make sure. Can’t have you breaking your streak because of me, y’know?” Sam grins self-deprecatingly and pulls out a bottle and two glasses. Reid downs the first in one gulp. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, making him cough, but he takes another sip as soon as Sam refills his glass. It doesn’t numb him nearly as much as he’d like, but it’s just enough to continue the conversation.

“I thought angels suppressed the people they were possessing.”

“They do. It took me weeks, He killed so many people…” Sam stares at his hands. “He almost killed Dean.”

“But you stopped him.”

“Yes. Just long enough to jump. Dragged Michael down with me, too.”

“How long?”

“Spencer…” Sam shakes his head.

“How long?”

“My soul was in there for eighteen months, Earth-time. But… time runs slower in Hell, and they’re archangels. Even inside the cage, they could do anything – manipulate time and space. Anything except get out. And they knew exactly who to blame.”

Memories rise up, of pain and torture and the man who tried to break him. His voice wavers when he forces out the next words. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Sam adamantly shakes his head, and Reid is ashamed at how relieved he is. Sam sacrificed himself to save the world, and he can’t even hear about the pain Sam had to endure.

The hunter refills their glasses, and they drink in heavy silence.

After several minutes, Sam speaks up. “Thank you.”

“What?” Reid must be more drunk than he’d thought.

“I never told anyone about all of this. I mean, people obviously know; Dean, Cas and Bobby were there, but you… listened. So thank you.”

“No, Sam, thank you. You saved the world. You saved the team, and my mom, and JJ’s son, and Hotch’s son, and… and everyone. So many people.” He doesn’t mind the amazement that slips into his tone, but Sam shifts uncomfortably.

“I let him out in the first place, it was my mess to clean up.”

“Sounds to me as if Heaven and Hell had quite the part in it, too.”

“But they couldn’t have done it without me.”

“The people Lucifer killed, that’s not on you. It’s not your fault.”

“I let him out.”

“It was his decision. It’s not your fault.”

Sam’s eyes drop to the table, not disagreeing, but not agreeing either.

Reid takes another sip of his drink. He needs time to think, to process all that he just heard, and he’s got a feeling that Sam could use a break, too. So, he leans back in his chair, letting a now more comfortable silence settle around them. The others are probably itching for an update, but they will just have to wait.

~*~

Dean turns the glass in his hands, sloshing the brown liquid in it. The bar he chose is practically empty at this time, so he notices the slim figure as soon as she walks in the door. Prentiss sits down on the other side of the small table. “Hi.”

Dean throws her a glance and takes a demonstrative sip of his drink. “I’m busy.”

“Day drinking? Yes, I can see that. Care to share why?”

“Nope.”

She raises an eyebrow, but the waiter chooses that exact moment to come over.

“Coffee, please”, she orders.

When they’re alone again, she turns back to Dean. “I heard Sam saved Hotch’s live today.”

He grunts into his glass.

“You don’t agree?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“The thing is”, she leans forward. “He didn’t even touch the man when he threw him across the room. I’ve never heard of a human doing that.”

Dean bristles. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything.”

“Bullshit. You want to know if he’s a monster. Well, he’s not. He’s human. So back off.”

“Okay.” She puts up a hand in a gesture of surrender. The waiter brings her coffee, looks between them questioningly. “Thanks.” Prentiss smiles at him until he leaves. She sips on her coffee and studies Dean. “You obviously know what’s going on, and you want to protect your brother. I get that, I really do. But we’re in the middle of a case, and a demon just tried to kill Hotch and Sam. So, is there anything you’d like to tell us?”

“No”, Dean growls.

“Then why are you so angry? Looks to me like these… these powers he has are really useful.”

Dean puts his glass down with a pang and leans closer. “Because they’re evil! His powers come from demon blood, and he’s a freaking junkie who swears he’s clean, but how in the hell did he do that if he is?!”

Prentiss gapes at him. Crap. He didn’t mean to say anything, he’s just full to the brim with anger, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You mean”, Prentiss hesitates. “Sam is addicted to blood? He’s… drinking blood?”

“Demon blood, but yes.” He downs his drink, motions to the waiter for more, and tries to push his anger aside for now. “It’s not his fault, though. At least, not completely. A demon fed him his blood when he was a baby, and another demon came to him more than twenty years later. I was… I wasn’t there at the time, and she convinced him he was doing it to help people.”

She’s looking a bit green around the seams, but dammit, she’s the one who wanted to know. “And it gives him powers. To do what, exactly?”

“Control demons. Exorcise ‘em, even kill ‘em, if he’s juiced up.”

“Okay.” She nods to herself, trying to process. “And has he ever done that without the blood?”

“No.”

“Has he even tried doing it without the blood?”

“No.” He hasn’t, has he? Or is this the proof that he continued to do it in secret, because he knew Dean would never agree? His frown deepens, and Prentiss seems to be able to read his doubt.

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t trust him.”

“I trust him with my life every time we go on a hunt, without hesitation. But with this… no, I don’t.” And wasn’t that the heart of the problem? “Too much happened.”

“Like what?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. She doesn’t need to know about their role in starting the Apocalypse. He sips on his drink instead.

She gets the message. “Okay. What does Sam say about his powers?”

“He promised he wouldn’t drink any more blood.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Have you ever talked about it? I mean, really talked, without yelling, and listened to each other?”

Dean snorts and finishes his drink. He waves for another. “Winchesters aren’t good at that touchy-feely crap.”

“Of course not.” Sarcasm drips from her words.

Dean frowns, annoyed. Should he have tried to listen to Sam about this? To what end? The kid lied about his powers and Ruby for so long, how was he supposed to trust him with this?

Anger rises again – at Azazel, for starting this whole mess; at Ruby, for getting in his little brother’s head; at Sam, for trusting that bitch and choosing her over his own brother; and, if he’s being honest, at himself, for not being able to do his most important job: protect Sammy. There’s too much anger going around, and no one alive he can let it out on – except for Sam, but the kid has enough on his plate right now. Besides, lashing out at Sam, even when he kind of deserves it, goes against everything ingrained in him, and he’s gonna feel like shit afterwards. He always does.

He gratefully takes the new drink from the waiter. Prentiss is studying him again – freaking profilers.

The silent standoff is interrupted by her phone ringing. “Hi Hotch… Yes, I’m with him… Sure, can you pick us up? I’ll text you the address… Okay.”

“My car’s outside”, Dean says as she slips her phone back into her pocket.

“I know. It’s how I knew which bar you were in. But that’s your third drink. So, unless you want me to drive your car…” She grins at his outraged face.

~*~

Prentiss and Winchester are already waiting in front of the bar by the time Hotch and Morgan pull up. Her face is serious, while he looks downright murderous. Hotch can smell the alcohol on his breath as he climbs into the back of the car.

The ride to the motel is quiet except for Dean’s occasional directions. They walk up to the room, and Dean hesitates before opening the door, schooling his face into an impassive mask.

Sam and Reid are sitting at the small table, a half-empty bottle and two full glasses between them. Neither of them moves as they enter, but Sam’s eyes take in every single movement, down to the twitch of their fingers. He avoids looking his brother in the eyes, though, and Dean does the same.

Hotch shivers, spares half a thought to a broken AC unit that has the room turned into a freezer, and sits down on a creaking bed. Morgan, Prentiss and Dean follow his example. Reid’s gaze flickers over them before sinking back to his fidgeting hands.

“The police is looking for David Lewis”, Hotch says. “They obviously don’t know he’s a demon, but we described him as ‘armed and dangerous’, and they have strict instructions to call us if they see him.” He hesitates slightly before asking the next question. “Sam, if it comes down to it, would you be able to do it again?”

“No, no way!” Dean jumps up with clenched fists. Sam flinches back as if he’d been hit.

Hotch frowns. “I didn’t ask you.”

“Well, I’m answering anyway. No.” He plants himself between Hotch and Sam. “You have no idea what this is about.”

“Then explain it to me.” Hotch’s voice is sharp. Dean’s lips press together, and to everyone’s surprise, it’s Reid who speaks up.

“These powers Sam has, they come from demons.”

“What?”, Morgan asks. “Like a witch?”

“No, witches sell their souls, Sam…” Reid hesitates, looks at Sam for permission. He nods. “Sam got fed demon blood when he was a baby, that’s where they originated. Later, he got addicted to it, and he drew enough power from it to exorcise and even kill demons. He’s clean now. I think using these powers was more instinct than conscious decision.”

Hotch studies his agent. It’s obvious that Reid’s holding something back, but if he thinks it’s not pertinent to the job, he won’t press. Sam should decide on his own whether to tell them any more or not, and it’s a gesture of trust that he let Reid talk in the first place, to let him decide how much to reveal.

“You never told me you could use them without drinking the blood”, Dean bites out.

Sam speaks up for the first time. “I never tried it. I never wanted to try it, Dean. You know why.”

Dean huffs out a breath.

Hotch intervenes before they can get into a discussion again. “You think because of the origin of these powers, you shouldn’t use them?”

“Damn straight he shouldn’t”, Dean agrees.

Hotch turns his eyes to Sam. “I tried using them to help people, to do good. It didn’t end well.”

Reid takes a sip of his drink, turns the glass in his hands. “I don’t think the powers itself are evil.”

Dean turns on him, but Reid quickly holds up his free hand. “I know what happened. Still”, he turns to Sam this time. “She offered you what you wanted, maybe even what you needed at the time. And you fell for it. But without Ruby and the addiction, it could’ve ended – no, it would’ve ended very differently. Your powers weren’t the problem, Sam, the circumstances were. Now, if you want, we could try it again, together, and without the blood. Think of it as a controlled experiment. The minute something happens or you feel uncomfortable, we stop.”

Sam tilts his head, and Dean gapes at him. “You can’t really be considering this.”

Sam’s gaze flickers to his brother, then back to Reid. “I’m not sure.”

The agent smiles, reaching out and patting Sam’s hand. “You don’t have to decide now. The offer stands.” He rises from his chair and sways slightly. His gaze moves from the bottle to Hotch, a sheepish expression on his face. The team leader barely refrains from rolling his eyes. How did he end up with half of his team drunk in the middle of a case?

“Morgan, Prentiss, we’re going back to the station. You three”, he points at Sam, Dean and Reid, “sleep it off. We’ll see you fresh tomorrow morning.”


	5. Chapter five

Tension is still hanging in the air the next morning, and, as much as Sam hates to admit it, he’s glad for the buffer of agents between him and his brother.

Dean is quietly going through the case files again, while Hotch and Sam are reviewing and dissecting everything that happened during Lewis’ interview the day before. Hotch studies Sam.

“He was acting weird, yes, but how did you know he was possessed?”

Sam frowns, trying to explain. “Do you know that tingling in the back of your neck that tells you someone’s watching? It’s kinda like that. Instinct.”

The agent nods pensively and continues needling Sam for information about Lewis’ demon and demons in general. Sam makes sure to answer as truthfully and as precise as possible, only glancing up occasionally to make sure none of the officers are close enough to overhear their strange conversation.

“What I don’t understand”, Reid says, fidgeting with his fourth cup of coffee. “Is why the demon reported Kara Lewis as missing. And why he didn’t leave her as soon as he possessed David Lewis. She would have noticed something was different.”

“It’s his cover story”, Dean says. “People who disappear draw attention. She worked a lot, and you said you found sleeping pills in the bathroom, right? So, he had most of the day and probably even most of the night to himself. The only time he needed to pretend was in the evening, during dinner, and maybe in the morning, unless she left before he even got up. Plus, he had a nice house, a loving wife, food on the table – it’s not the worst deal.”

“Until she found out and he had to kill her”, Morgan ads.

“Yep. Must’ve teleported her to the alley and killed her there, to throw us off his trail.”

“The co-worker I spoke to”, Prentiss says. “The one who called David to tell him his wife didn’t show up for work. She’s not just some co-worker, she’s also a close friend. If he hadn’t gone to the police, she would have. He just came himself to hold up the ruse a little bit longer.”

“And he played along when we interviewed him”, Hotch ads. “At least until Sam figured him out.”

“Why didn’t he jump ship the minute the FBI got involved?”, Dean asks. “He could’ve just found a different meatsuit, and if someone made the connection to Lewis, he would’ve been long gone.”

“Maybe the demon saw something in him”, Reid muses.

“What do you mean?”, Hotch asks.

“We profiled the Unsub, the demon; but the profile fits David Lewis surprisingly well. While his wife became successful, he dropped out of college after his parents died in a car accident. He began drifting from job to job, isolating himself from former friends, until his only real relationship was his over-worked wife.”

“All the victims had the same hair color as the wife”, Sam realizes. “The demon might be drawing from Lewis’ subconscious, channeling some of his frustration.”

Morgan frowns. “You mean the demon could be influenced by Lewis’ memories and experiences? Then we need to profile them both.”

“You’re right”, Prentiss says. “That also means he knows the area. He might be staying close by. In fact, he might be trying to go after you again. Think about it, after killing these women without much of a struggle and gaining all that confidence, suddenly two FBI agents show up, one even overpowers him. The humiliation must be driving him crazy.”

“Great. So you two” Dean motions at his brother and Hotch with the file “are getting around-the-clock protection. From us, not these cops.”

“Hunters”, Sam says, looking at Prentiss. “He thought we were both hunters, not FBI. But he didn’t recognize me, not even after I used my powers.”

“So?” Morgan smirks. “Are you famous or what?”

“Kind of”, Sam admits.

Dean snorts. “He must’ve been living under a rock. Unless…” His eyes meet Sam’s, and just like that, they’re back in sync.

“…he’s too young.” Sam finishes his sentence.

“That would also explain Amanda Williams body. She really was his first kill.” Several pictures slip out of the file onto the table as Dean leans forward in his excitement.

“Means he made a deal.” Sam watches as his brother freezes in the middle of gathering up the pictures.

“Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Sam moves over, stares at the picture in Dean’s hand in shock. “That’s Crowley. At the second crime scene, six days ago. What the hell?”

Dean’s already punching Cas’ number into his phone, cursing when it goes straight to voicemail. He slams it onto the table and tries the direct way. “Cas, get your feathery ass down here, or at least answer your damn phone! We got a problem.”

Sam’s dialing Bobby, watching out for their wayward angel, but he doesn’t show up. After several rings, Bobby’s voicemail answers.

“Hey, Bobby, it’s Sam. Listen, we think Crowley’s still alive, so watch your ass and call us back.” He shakes his head at Dean’s questing look.

Prentiss interrupts the brothers. “Would one of you explain to us what’s going on?”

Sam blinks, remembering the presence of the FBI agents. “Right, sorry. That’s Crowley.” He points at the figure in the custom-made suit, standing out between the other people in the crowd with his blank, almost bored expression. “Demon. Former King of the Crossroads, rose to King of Hell after the Apocalypse ended. We dug up his bones a few months ago, and Cas burned them, which should’ve killed him.”

“You’re saying you tried to kill the King of Hell?” Morgan’s eyebrows rise in disbelief.

“We caged the devil, killing a jumped-up crossroads demon shouldn’t have been a problem. And maybe, if Cas could get his ass down here, we could figure out what happened.” Dean's voice rises at the last words, his eyes turning upwards as if he expects Cas to float down from the ceiling.

“Who’s Cas?”, Hotch asks.

“An angel”, Sam says. “And a friend. But he’s busy fighting a civil war, so we haven’t seen a lot of him lately.” He thinks he can see surprise in Hotch’s stoic face, but his attention is drawn away when Reid speaks up.

“Do you think Crowley is involved in the killings?”

The brothers share a look. “No”, Dean says. “There’s nothing to gain for him. Last time we saw him, he was looking for Purgatory, going after monsters. Nothing here suggests that the victims were anything other than ordinary humans.”

“He’s definitely capable of that level of violence”, Sam ads. “But he wouldn’t do it without a purpose. He’s more of a businessman. Going after power, not after violence.”

“Then why was he at the crime scene?”, Hotch asks.

“We could ask him”, Dean suggests.

Sam tilts his head. “Then he knows we know he’s alive.”

“So? He knows we’ll figure it out sooner or later. Might as well let the demon out of the bag.” Dean shrugs.

“How did he survive?” Sam frowns. “Bobby said it would work.”

“Well, maybe Cas made a mistake, burnt the wrong bones. Got tricked by Crowley.”

“Cas doesn’t make mistakes.”

Dean throws up his hands. “Then that slimy bastard found a loophole. We can ask him ourselves.”

Sam considers pushing the subject, voicing the doubt that popped into his head as soon as he spotted Crowley in the picture, but he reconsiders and shakes his head. He locks the thought away to be analyzed later. Or maybe never.

“As if Crowley’ll give us a straight answer”, he says, lifting an eyebrow at Dean. Still, he grabs his phone and dials.

“Queen of computers, how may I help my big friendly giant?”

A small smile appears on Sam face. “Hey, Garcia. Could you find us the closest abandoned warehouse? Preferably without neighbors.”

“Can I… I hope that’s a rhetorical question. Address is on your phone.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey”, Dean chimes in. “Could you check the victims for any connection to the supernatural or monsters, other than their deaths? And for any connection between them and David Lewis, or between each other.”

“Now that is an appropriate challenge. So far, I haven’t found anything connecting the first three victims, but I’ll keep digging. And I’ll add your parameters to the search. I’ll hit you back when I find something.”

The Winchesters exchange another look before standing up. “Let’s go summon the King of Hell.”

~*~

The warehouse Garcia found is protected by a single lock that quickly opens under Dean’s skilled fingers. He slips his lockpicks back into his pockets and strolls into the empty hall, Sam, Hotch and Reid on his heels. Prentiss and Morgan are staying back at the station, coordinating with the local police and monitoring the tip line, in case someone spots David Lewis.

Reid looks around uncomfortably. The hall is only dimly lit, casting the corners into shadows dark enough for someone to hide in. He shakes off the thought and watches the brothers, trying to memorize every step of the preparation. They begin expertly setting up the room, drawing a devil’s trap on the cement floor, adding several other symbols, aligning burning candles and mixing herbs in a bowl. Finally, Sam and Dean step back to check their work.

“We can do this alone, y’know”, Dean says. “You don’t need to get involved with this. Crowley’s not one to forgive and forget.”

“I know”, Hotch answers, and Reid nods.

“We’re staying.”

“Suit yourself.” Dean shrugs.

“Be careful”, Sam warns. “And whatever happens, don’t step inside the devil’s trap, and don’t break any of the lines.”

“Why can’t we just summon the demon we’re after?”, Hotch asks.

“Can’t do that without knowing his name”, Sam says. “Ready?”

Both agents nod.

Sam lights a match and drops it into the bowl. A red flame erupts, and between one blink and the next, a figure appears in the trap. Reid flinches slightly, still not used to teleportation, but the brothers don’t even bat an eye.

“Hello boys.” His voice is smooth, his appearance more like a sleazy businessman and less horns-and-pitchfork than Reid expected. Of course, he shouldn't judge the new King of Hell on myths alone, especially if they originated before he was even crowned, maybe before he was even born. Maybe. The thought that the being in front of him could have well lived through the Middle Ages makes his head spin.

“Crowley”, Dean greets. “Looking good for a dead man.”

“Oh, please, did you really think burning a few measly bones would stop me? I’m the King of Hell.”

“Considering they were your measly bones, yes.” Sam’s drawn up to his full height, suddenly not looking so friendly anymore.

“Oh, Moose, so naïve. You didn’t think I wouldn’t take precautions after you got your grubby hands on my bones once?” He looks past the Winchesters, finding Reid and Hotch easily even though they’re obscured by shadows. “I see you brought friends.”

Hotch steps closer, Reid only a step behind him. “You must be Crowley. I’m SSA-“

“Aaron Hotchner, and Doctor Spencer Reid, yes, I know.” He turns back to the Winchester, gestures at the floor. “You could’ve just called, no need for these dramatics. After all, we’re old business partners, aren’t we?”

“If that’s what you want to call you screwing with us.” Dean scowls, unconsciously moving closer to his brother.

“Well, your pet angel tried to bloody kill me!”, Crowley screams. “So, I say we’re even. What do you think, boys?” He grins smoothly.

“Why are you in town?”, Sam asks, bringing the conversation back on track.

“Why, because you summoned me.”

“Don’t play dumb. You were in town, at a crime scene, six days ago. Why?”

“Bossy, Moose. Glad to see you didn’t lose your bite with all those pesky memories floating around that big head of yours. In fact, I heard a rumor that the Boy King was back. Should I be worried?”

“Where’d you hear that?”, Dean asks. “Just tell us who started the rumor, and we’ll let you go. He’s the one we’re looking for, not you.”

The demon frowns, narrows his eyes and studies them. Hotch steps forward. “You’re looking for him, too.”

Crowley’s gaze snaps to the agent. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun here and there.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “But that one, he’s off the rails. The whole bloody country is looking for him, and I don’t need that kind of attention right now.”

“Then help us find him”, Reid says.

Cold eyes land on him. “Quiet, baby giraffe, the adults are talking.”

Reid frowns at the nickname but doesn’t let himself get thrown off track. “You want to find him. We know who he is possessing, and we have a profile on him. We present you with the profile, you tell us his name, and we’ll arrest him.”

“Making a deal with a demon? You must be desperate to find him.” He grins. “Okay. Always happy to gain new customers.”

Reid hesitates, knowing what a demon deal normally entails – that was not what he intended. But Crowley rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you can keep your soul.”

“No loopholes”, Dean warns.

“Swear to God”, Crowley says sarcastically. “I’m not taking or borrowing any of your souls. Can we get on with it, then? I have a kingdom to run.”

“The man he’s possessing is David Lewis”, Hotch explains. “He only recently landed in Hell because of a deal he made. We think that Amanda Williams was the first person he ever killed. If you’ve met him before, you’d describe him as socially awkward, unsure of himself, and unable to have a stable relationship or hold a steady job. But since he started killing, he’s had an enormous boost in confidence; he may be showing bursts of rage he previously suppressed.”

The demon tilts his head. “I’ll have to check old contracts.”

Dean frowns. “C’mon, you trying to tell me that the King of the Crossroads doesn’t remember the people he made deals with?”

“Not everyone is as memorable as you, Squirrel.”

They’ve reached an impasse, and nobody moves for several moments, until Crowley taps his foot impatiently. The brothers look at each other, communicating silently. Finally, Sam squats and uses a pocketknife to scratch away some of the paint, breaking the trap. Crowley disappears without a sound.


	6. Chapter six

“Do you think this Crowley will come through?” Morgan looks from the brothers to his friends.

Sam tilts his head. “Maybe. It’s in his best interest, but he doesn’t like working with us any more than we like working with him, so who knows.”

“We should come up with a plan B, I don’t like relying on that son of a bitch”, Dean says.

“We have alerts out on David Lewis himself, on his car, his phone, and his credit cards”, Hotch says. “He won’t get far. But none of that helps if he is hiding close by.” He taps on his phone.

“Speak and you shall be heard, my liege.”

“Garcia, anything new about Lewis or the connections?”

“None of the women’s paths ever crossed, and as far as I can tell, their first supernatural encounter was also their last. Well, if you exclude Kara Lewis – she must’ve spoken to the demon several times in the days before her death-“

“Garcia.”

“Right, sorry, boss. I did find some dirt on David Lewis: he withdrew money five weeks ago in an ATM that’s several blocks away from his house – too far for convenience. But, it’s just across the street from the bar Amanda Williams worked at. I spoke to a co-worker, and she remembers him coming in several times over the past month, always drinking alone, always paying cash – which is why it took me so long to find the connection – and always when Amanda was working.”

“He was stalking her before he got possessed”, Emily says.

“That’s what I was thinking. Oh, and two days before the first murder, he got fired after a huge fight with his boss. And I’m talking, ugly fighting. The boss obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but one of his former colleagues let it slip that he called Lewis ‘useless’ and that he should ‘go cry to his perfect little wife’.”

“That’s the stressor”, Hotch says. “Good work.”

“Who’s the boss?”, Reid asks.

“Martin Brown, 43, he’s- wait, you don’t think Lewis is coming after him, do you?”

“Maybe.” Reid frowns. “Amanda Williams and Carmen Morales can be seen as surrogates for his wife, next he killed his wife, going to the source of his anger. But then, instead of going after his boss and other people he thinks wronged him in some way, he kills a woman he has no connection to.”

“She fits his type”, Dean says.

“Yes, but serial killers often start with surrogates until they gain enough confidence to go after whoever they represent for him. Lewis already killed his wife, he has no need for surrogates anymore.”

“Maybe he’s still pissed at his wife. Only with her dead, he couldn’t let it out on her anymore.” Dean frowns. “Wait, does that mean now that he’s pissed at you, he’ll start going after dark-haired giants?”

Uneasy glances are exchanged.

“He could come after you directly.” Prentiss nods at Hotch and Sam.

“Or he could go back to surrogates, to push his self-esteem”, Morgan says.

“If he does go after us, it’ll be easier to trap him”, Sam says.

“If we can do it on our terms, yes.” Dean glances at his brother with concern.

The discussion veers off to devil’s traps and how to best trick a demon. Several ideas are presented and discarded, in the end all hinging on the same problem – with both the demon and Lewis influencing decisions, they simply don’t have enough information.

Eventually, Hotch ends the debate. “It’s late. We should all get some sleep, start fresh tomorrow.” The chair scratches back as he stands up. Dean points at him.

“You’re coming with us.”

“Where?”

“To our motel room. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’ve caught that son of a bitch.”

Hotch frowns, unsure whether he should be annoyed or honored by Dean’s sudden protectiveness of him.

“We could also ward your hotel room”, Sam says. “But the room service at those fancy hotels tends to frown upon that.”

“Is that why you stay in those fleabags?” Prentiss grins.

Sam shrugs. “They’re dumps, but they’re cheap enough, and no one cares what we do in there.”

“Great, then they won’t care if a fourth person stays in the room, right?”, Morgan says.

“Do I get a say in this?”, Hotch asks wryly.

“Nope.” Dean stands up. “It’s a slumber party, we can braid Sam’s hair. Let’s go.”

~*~

The ride to the motel is short, but it’s the only time Sam and Dean have some privacy as Hotch and Morgan follow them in their SUV. Dean's fingers clench around Baby's steering wheel when his brother speaks up.

“Dean, about what Reid said yesterday. I-“

Dean cuts him off, tries not to let his anger seep into his tone. “You don’t have to say it, Sammy. You know I don’t like this, and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t go near those powers with a ten-foot pole. But it’s your decision. And, as much as I hate it, I’d rather be there if you decide to do it.” Reid's words are still rattling around in his head. _Maybe I could've helped you - should've helped you more. Get you away from Ruby, from the blood, sooner. Endure your chick-flick moments. Maybe, things could've been different._

_Or maybe I would've just watched you fuck up the world from up close._

Sam lets out a breath. “Thank you. Seriously, Dean, it means a lot that you trust me with this, because… I don’t trust myself. I’m terrified of my powers, and of what it means that they came back now – if it means anything at all. Maybe it’s just dumb luck, or it was a one-off, I- I just don’t know.”

“Hey.” Dean glances at him with concern; the admission shouldn't shock him as much as it does. He has no trouble softening his voice this time. “You don’t have to decide anything right now, okay? But if you really want, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

~*~

The lights of the city at night blur into strange shapes. Reid stares out of the car window, trying to ignore the looks Prentiss throws in his direction. She should really focus on the road and the way back to their hotel. That’s not what comes out of his mouth, though.

“Every sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

“Arthur C. Clarke”, Prentiss says. Reid hums in agreement.

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m not sure.” Too many thoughts are swirling inside his head, refusing to be analyzed and squared away like usual. It’s infuriating.

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

Reid shakes his head. “I believe in science. We may not be able to explain everything, but there are laws and rules that have to be obeyed. All that lives dies eventually. And what’s dead should stay dead.” His voice is strangled as he says that. He feels as if he betrayed Sam’s trust just by thinking that way.

Prentiss frowns. “Is this about ghosts and demons?”

“Sam and Dean have both died several times”, Reid confesses.

She flinches so hard the car almost swerves into oncoming traffic. Under the honking of multiple cars, she steadies the SUV before turning back to Reid. “Please tell me you’re talking about resuscitation by CPR.”

“More like resurrection.”

“Jesus.”

Reid lets out a laugh, not caring about the hysterical edge. “Not quite.”

She shakes her head. “How did we get into this?”

“We found a vampire. Maybe we’re too good at our job.”

Prentiss snorts, shakes her head again. They drive in silence for a few minutes before she breaks it. “Was that why you were drinking?”

Reid blushes, fumbles with his tie. “Part of it, yeah. I just… after all that’s happened to them, I don’t know how they keep going.”

“You have to admit, neither is the epitome of mental health.”

“No, but any other person would just curl up in a corner and cry.” He wants to tell her, to yell at the world that Sam Winchester saved it, but that's not his story to tell. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

Prentiss studies him, searching his face for something. “Are you okay?”, she asks softly.

“I will be. Just as soon as I’ve rearranged my world view.” His reassuring smile comes out as more of a grimace.

“Even monsters follow rules. It looks like chaos right now, but people used to say the same about serial killers, remember? Now we can profile them, predict their behavior. I bet the same applies to the supernatural. You just have to find the pattern. And we’re talking about you here, so you’ll figure it out.” She sends Reid a smile that he tentatively returns.

~*~

Sharing a two-bed motel room with three other grown men is awkward, to say the least. Neither of them really knows what to say, so they limit their conversation to the essentials. Even though the room is heavily warded, Sam and Dean share their arsenal with the agents. Both of them get hex bags to hide from demons and angels, plenty of holy water, a recording of an exorcism on their phones, and Hotch gets the extra angel blade, while Morgan has to be content with a salt-loaded shotgun.

They lay down on top of the covers, the agents taking Sam’s bed, while the brothers share Dean’s. As always, Dean puts himself between the door and Sam and they slip their weapons under their pillows.

To Sam’s surprise, neither Hotch nor Morgan protest the bed. It’s too narrow for two men their size, and they can’t be used to sharing, but they just lie down, and their breaths soon even out in sleep. Sam curls up in a ball, pretends that the reason he all but buries his face in his brother’s arm is the narrow bed and not the unfamiliar sounds of two additional men in the room. He forces himself to focus on Dean’s breathing and slowly slips into an uneasy sleep.

~*~

_“Just relax, bunk buddy. You look so pretty like this.”_

Sam startles awake, fingers clenching around Ruby’s knife. Phantom fingers on his skin, leaving icy trails as they wander down and-

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is soft, barely loud enough to be heard over Sam’s harsh breathing. It’s fine, he’s fine, and He is not here. They’re alone, it’s just Sam and Dean… and two FBI agents.

They’re all staring in concern, and Sam forces himself to move, to put the knife down. “Sorry”, he croaks, forcing out the English word. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine, Sammy, don’t worry about it.” Dean’s soothing tone is contrasted by his warning glare at the agents.

Sam nods, stands up, and almost stumbles from the absence of pain. It was his companion for so long, now relegated to a mere visitor in his dreams, that his body feels almost wrong without it.

“Where’re you goin’, Sam?”

“Getting breakfast.” He throws a look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s almost five o’clock, an acceptable time to get up, right? He’s not sure, just knows that he has to get out of the room, now.

“I’m coming with you”, Morgan says. Three pairs of eyes snap to him as he casually stretches out the kinks in his back. “Can’t sleep anyway.”

Sam shrugs, slips into his shoes – he slept fully clothed – and grabs his phone and wallet.

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, the air fresh as Sam pulls in a deep breath. They stroll down the deserted sidewalk, the movement helping to throw off the last remnants of the dream.

“There should be a diner just behind that corner.” Sam motions down the road, getting a nod in reply.

“I hear you’ve been taking to Garcia.” Morgan’s tone is casual – too casual. Sam recognizes it.

“Yeah, she and JJ found a few cases they thought were up our alley. Y’know, they’re getting pretty good at reading the signs.”

“They’re the best.”

“You don’t have to worry, I have no intention of dragging them any further into this life.”

“How-“ Morgan’s eyes widen in surprise.

Sam smirks. “You remind me of Dean sometimes. He would’ve tried to protect his friends – his family – too. Especially from guys like us.”

“I’m not…” Morgan frowns. They round the corner, landing in front of a neon sign advertising a 24-hour diner.

Sam pushes the door open, quirks an eyebrow at Morgan. “Just buy him a drink. I’ll bet once you get over your alpha-male posturing, you’ll get along great.”


	7. Chapter seven

The morning passes agonizingly slowly. Whether the demon is in total control or getting advice from David Lewis, they’re good at hiding. Not even Garcia, with all her marvelous skills, can find a trace of him. The only good thing is that he hasn’t claimed any more victims.

In the end, Dean is the first to say it out loud. “He could’ve bailed. A snap of his fingers, and he’s on the other side of the country.”

“I still think he’ll come back for Hotch and Sam.” Prentiss voice doesn’t hold as much conviction as it did the day before.

“We can look for demon signs in neighboring counties, but searching the whole country for him would be like looking for a specific needle in a haystack riddled with needles.” Sam says.

Hotch nods at him. “Have Garcia help you.”

The hunter nods and is soon immersed in a discussion with the technical analyst. The rest of the team only half-listens to his explanation about weather phenomena and cattle deaths, instead going over the case again. Just as Sam finishes up his call, they circle back to putting out a trap for Lewis.

“It’s pretty easy”, Dean says. “We prepare a room, put Hotch in it, and burn his hex bag. The demon’ll be able to find him, and as soon as he shows up, we’ll send him back to Hell.”

“I still don’t get why Hotch has to be bait. What about Sam?” Morgan raises his eyebrows.

Dean leans forward with narrow eyes, but his brother quickly interrupts him.

“I’d do it, but our demon warding is non-removable. He won’t be able to find me.”

“Non-removable? How does that work?”, Prentiss questions.

The brothers subconsciously move a hand to their ribs. “Cas carved Enochian sigils into our ribs”, Dean explains nonchalantly.

The agents stare, even Hotch looks surprised. A ringing draws their attention. Dean takes a look at the caller ID, sits up straighter. “Crowley.” He answers, putting the call on speaker.

“Hello boys.”

“Do you have a name?” Dean’s attention is hyper-focused on the phone.

“All work, no play?” The smug tone is clear even through the grainy connection.

“Crowley, I swear to God, if you don’t-“

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Squirrel, I took care of the problem.”

Dean’s fist turns white where it’s clenched around the phone. “Goddammit, you were supposed to tell us who he is, not kill him!”

“You’re welcome. Always a pleasure doing business with you.”

The connection cuts out, leaving them in heavy silence.

“We just handed a suspect to the King of Hell”, Reid mutters, feeling sick.

A chime indicates an incoming text from the same number as the earlier call: 666.

“We got coordinates”, Dean says. “Let’s move.”

The agents follow him, and Reid’s half-way to the door when Dean’s soft “Sammy?” stops him in his tracks.

Sam startles, raising his gaze from the table to look at his brother. “I can imagine what Crowley means when he says he ‘took care of it’. I don’t need to see it.”

There’s a whole conversation happening in front of Reid, encompassed in one look, finished only seconds later when Dean nods. “We’ll see you later.”

~*~

The small conference room feels empty without Dean or the agents. Sam leans back in his chair, lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. He hasn’t been alone with his thoughts in a while – hasn’t wanted to, if he’s being honest – but after what happened, he needs some time to think things through.

A rustling of clothes draws his attention, and the King of Hell sends him a wave and one of his infuriatingly smug smiles from where he’s casually leaning against the wall on the other side of the table.

“Hello Moose.”

“Crowley. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to chat; see how you’re doing. You’re looking pretty good for the devil’s personal chew toy.”

Sam can’t hide his flinch. “So, you’re just concerned about me, this has nothing to do with my powers?” Sarcasm is oozing from his voice.

“Well, now that you mention it.” Crowley grins and steps closer, into Sam’s personal space. “I knew the second I laid my eyes on you that there was something different. I thought it was just the newly returned soul, but now… I can see it.”

“See what?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good business man if I just told you that.”

“What do you want?”

“Not much. You just need to come with me for a little private conversation.”

“Pass.” The response is automatic, his gut telling him not to trust the demon.

“Are you sure? Tell me, why didn’t you use your powers for that long? Even your soulless version didn’t touch them, when he used every other means at his disposal. And I mean, _every_ other means.” He winks at Sam. “Why did they re-appear now?”

Sam shakes his head, even though he’s been asking himself the same questions. “No. I’m not coming with you. No more shady deals.”

“Your loss.” Crowley shrugs. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

Sam blinks, and the room is empty. He runs a hand through his hair, tries to squash the little voice in his head that’s whispering he just missed his best chance to find out what’s going on with him. No. He resolutely shakes his head. They always have another card up their sleeves.

“Hey, Cas. I know you’re busy and Dean already reached out to you, but we really need to talk to you. Some stuff happened, and Crowley says he knows what’s going on, but he’s… y’know how he is. And yes, he’s still alive. So, uh, we could really use your help here.”

Electricity is tingling down his spine, and the quiet flapping of wings herald the angel’s arrival.

“Sam.”

“Cas! I, uh, didn’t expect you to actually come.”

“Crowley is still alive?” Cas tilts his head and studies Sam with his piercing blue eyes.

“Yes. Looks like burning the bones doesn’t work when you’re dealing with the King of Hell. Or he pulled another trick, I wouldn’t put it past him. Anyway, he’s still around and pissing us off.”

“What did he do?”

“He…” Sam takes a deep breath and tells Cas what happened in the last few days, including using his powers and the strange conversation with Crowley.

Cas steps closer and lays two fingers on Sam’s forehead. He frowns. “I can’t sense any more demon blood than usual in you.”

Tense muscles relax and Sam sags in relief. Cas tilts his head, and Sam frowns. “Wait, then why are you looking so concerned?”

The angel shifts, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “Cas, what’s going on? Do you know what Crowley was talking about when he said something was different?”

“I… I noticed something the last time we spoke, but I was unsure – I am still unsure, but it is possible…” He hesitates.

“Cas, just tell me what’s going on.” Sam’s panicked heart is beating against his ribcage.

“It is possible that an angel leaves behind traces of his grace after abandoning his vessel.”

“No”, Sam breathes out. His chest constricts, his vision tunneling until all he can see are his hands. The hands that were used by Him to rip and tear and kill- The hands that are still tainted by His grace-

“No, no, no, no, no… get it out, Cas, get it out, I can’t- I have-“ He scratches at his left hand, but it’s not enough- The knife is flipped open in a smooth motion, it runs over his palm, crimson blood welling up. It runs down the fingers, drips out of his hand, but is it enough to get the taint out?

Will anything ever be enough?

He doesn’t know, but he has to try. The blade moves to the soft flesh of his arm, but before he can make another cut, there’s someone there – a warm hand grabs his arm, two fingers quickly coming to meet his head, and a wave of darkness washes over him.

~*~

“I can’t believe I’ve missed this.”

“Missed what, Baby Girl?”

“The address Crowley gave you is for a storage unit. It’s paid for in cash and rented under the name David Hall. Hall was his mother’s maiden name.”

Morgan and Hotch exchange a look before Hotch quickly focuses back on the road, weaving the SUV through tight traffic.

“Thanks, Baby Girl. We’re almost there.”

“A storage unit under a false name never bodes well”, Prentiss mutters from the back seat.

Hotch mentally agrees, taking a sharp right turn and finally pulling up in front of the storage facility. The clerk on duty is very helpful when five people wearing FBI vests and guns burst into his office, and quickly leads them to the right unit.

Hotch gestures the man to stand back, and Dean expertly picks the lock. The hunter steps to the side and draws his angel blade. At a silent signal, Morgan rolls up the gate, and the others burst through.

The stench of rotten eggs hits them first, quickly followed by the coppery smell of dried blood.

The single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling reveals a bloodied and broken corpse, lying amidst boxes with strange content and several old books.

“Clear.” Hotch lowers his weapon, steps closer. The sound of retching behind him, and he turns just in time to see the clerk running back out. Morgan follows him, while Dean just rolls his eyes.

“Freaking civilians”, he mutters under his breath. He bends over the body, grimaces in disgust. “Crap, you can’t see anything under all this blood. Hotch, you recognize him?”

“Height and weight are a match. And he’s wearing the same shoes.”

“Identification by shoes, great. Freaking Crowley, I should’ve known he’d do this.”

Hotch glances at Dean, wondering again just how well the brothers know the demon – there’d been a lot of subtext in the conversation, references he didn’t understand. The line about the Boy King is especially worrying, like the demon expects Sam to fill some kind of role. Maybe he should ask Reid about it.

“What are you doing?”, Prentiss asks as Dean carefully peels back the shirt from Lewis’ chest.

“See that?” The hunter indicates a stab wound with a peculiar three-pointed star pattern, then shows his blade. “He was killed by an angel blade.”

“Good luck explaining that to the coroner”, Prentiss remarks dryly.

“Look at this!”, Reid calls.

Sidestepping several boxes, they reach the back of the unit where Reid is kneeling beside burned-down candles and an opened book. The symbols painted onto the floor seem remarkably familiar.

Dean curses as he inspects the scene. “This is just wrong.”

“What?” Prentiss looks between them in confusion.

Dean runs a hand over his face, suddenly looking much older. “David Lewis summoned the demon himself.”

~*~

The case is over, but all Dean feels is tiredness as he walks back into the station. The officers are smiling more, relieve is almost tangible in the air, but he has a bitter taste in his mouth – of fire and brimstone. A flash of a familiar beige trench coat captures his attention, and he heads to the conference room. He bursts through the door, but freezes mid-step at the scene in front of him.

Sam is crumpled in one of the chairs, hair falling into his face as his head lolls to the side. His limp body is help up by Cas, and his left hand is dripping blood onto the floor.

“What the hell?!”

Cas turns around at Dean’s exclamation, his usually stoic face a mixture of relief, confusion and guilt. His eyes briefly flicker over Dean’s shoulder, but the hunter doesn’t care that the agents followed him into the room, all he cares for is his little brother. He moves over, fumbles for a pulse. It’s too quick, but strong. Dean breathes out in relief, unconsciously moving his hand to steady Sam’s head. Fingers thread through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“What happened, Cas? Why are you here now? I tried to call you yesterday!”

The angel frowns. “Yes, and you could’ve been more precise than just saying ‘we got a problem’. We got several problems, Dean, in case you didn’t notice. Sam said that Crowley was still alive, so I came. He also told me about his powers.” He falters.

“And?” Green eyes bore into blue ones, their faces only inches apart where they’re bent over Sam’s prone form.

“It is possible that an angel leaves behind traces of his grace after abandoning his vessel.”

“What?” Dean’s voice cracks on the word, his stomach sinking.

“Sam was… distressed to hear that, and I thought it best to put him to rest.”

A choked sound comes from behind, and Dean quickly holds up a hand. “A, you can’t say it like that, it sounds as if you just killed him. And B, when Sam’s freaking out, you talk to him, you don’t knock him out. Jesus, Cas, can you at least try to act like a human being?”

“I am not human, Dean.”

“I know, just- nevermind. Wait, what does the grace have to do with his powers in the first place?”

“I suspect that his grace, as you would say, jump-started Sam’s powers.”

“Huh. So, no demon blood?”

Cas shrugs. “Not more than the usual taint from Azazel, no.”

Dean pays no mind to Cas’ callous wording, mentally apologizing to his brother for not believing him. First things first, though. He turns to the agents.

“Case closed; we’ll talk later. Cas, can you get us back to the motel room?”

The angel wordlessly reaches out, the ground drops out from under Dean, only to be back a millisecond later. He ignores the churning in his stomach and helps the angel lay out Sam on one of the beds. He quickly ties a bandana around the bleeding wound before turning to Cas again.

“Wake him up.”

“Are you sure, Dean? Maybe it would be best to let him wake up on his own.”

“He already has nightmares, and your revelation only poured oil into the fire. Believe me, it’s better to wake him up now.”

Cas tilts his head, but reaches out and presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead.

Brown eyes fly open, Sam’s upper body shoots up and he tries to scramble away. He flinches, bringing up his bloody hand and staring at it in confusion.

“Hey, Sammy”, Dean’s voice is gentle, reserved only for his little brother.

Sam’s gaze snaps to him, then quickly scans the room. His brow crinkles in confusion. “How did we get here?”

“After Muhammad Ali here”, he jabs a thump at Cas, who looks confused, “knocked you out, I thought it would be best to get you out of the station and somewhere more private.”

Dean can see the exact moment Sam remembers what happened. All color drains from his face, and his breathing begins to speed up. “Cas, he said that… that he…” He draws in his knees, wraps his arms around them. Unintelligible words fall from his mouth.

“Hey, Sammy, calm down. I know, he told me. It’s okay.” Dean sinks onto the bed, carefully scoots closer to his brother. “Just breathe, Sammy. It’s okay, I got you.” His right hand lightly lands on Sam’s shoulder, pulling him forward. Sam resists for only a moment before collapsing against Dean, gripping at his hand like an anchor. Dean squeezes gently, only remembering the cut when he feels warm blood between his fingers. Sam’s breath hitches, then he squeezes Dean’s hand back tightly.

Green eyes widen in realization. “Pain up here feels different than it does down there, doesn’t it, Sammy?” Dean squeezes the hand again. “You feel that? It means we got you out. We got you out, this is real. I got you. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

It feels like an eternity that they stay like that, Sam wrapped up in his brother’s arm in some shitty motel room, with Dean whispering reassurances into his ear.

Finally, Sam shifts and mumbles something into Dean’s jacket.

“What did you say?”

Sam turns his head and repeats it. “Get it out.”

Dean hesitates, throwing a look over his shoulder. Cas is still awkwardly standing behind him, only stepping closer now.

“It’s not that easy.” His deep rumble is soft, trying to imitate the way Dean speaks to Sam. “It is not just your body; your very soul was exposed to Lucifer’s grace for longer than any other in human history. The consequences are beyond even my understanding. I could try to find out, but I cannot promise anything.”

“Find out?” Sam lifts his head, peers over Dean’s shoulder at the angel. “How?”

“I know an angel who possessed the same human for many decades. He knows more about vessels and continued angel possession than anyone else, maybe he can help us. It would be the safest option.”

“What’s the other option?” Sam sits up straighter, still not relinquishing his vice-like grip on Dean’s hand.

Cas shifts uncomfortably. “I could try touching your soul. But if I am right and Lucifer’s grace is really tied to your soul and not your body, touching it could be very dangerous. I don’t recommend it.”

Sam frowns, and Dean can see him mentally considering the option. He quickly interrupts. “What if you can’t get it out?”

“I suspect that the grace is what re-activated your powers. Other than that, there should be no consequences.”

Sam still looks unhappy, and Dean can’t blame him. The thought that that son of a bitch left something behind in his little brother, that a part of him might forever be a part of Sam, is enough to turn his stomach upside-down. He can’t even imagine how much worse it must be for Sam himself.

For once, Cas seems to be able to read the mood, as he steps closer and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I will speak to my friend. Call if you need anything.” He’s gone with a rustle of feathers.

Dean’s left with his brother hunched miserably in on himself, and no idea how to fix this.

He starts with what he knows, gently extricating his fingers from Sam’s bloody hand. “Let’s get you patched up.”


	8. Chapter eight

Reid has a déjà-vu when he raises his hand to knock on the motel room door. The only difference is Morgan’s steady presence at his side. Dean opens up, rolls his eyes and beckons them inside. Sam is sitting on a bed, glancing up at them and absently tugging on a bandage wrapped around his left hand. Cas is not here – too bad, Reid really wants an opportunity to speak to the angel. He cannot even imagine the knowledge a being that old has amassed over the centuries… Then again, it might be nice to have a little breathing space before being dumped with the next load of world-changing information.

Morgan cocks his head. “You want a drink?”

Dean looks up at the question, gaze wandering from the agent to his brother. Sam rolls his eyes and tilts his head just a fraction. Even Reid understands that message. Still, Dean hesitates.

“I’m buying”, Morgan ads. Sam’s eyebrow twitches, and Dean relents.

“I’m not saying no to a free drink.” He grins nonchalantly, throws Sam one last look before leaving.

The door closes, leaving Reid and Sam alone. The agent gingerly sits on the bed opposite Sam.

“How are you doing?”

“Aces.” Sam throws him a dirty look. Reid winces – for all his knowledge, actual human interaction can be surprisingly hard.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asks.

“Not really.”

The agent nods, chaining tactics. “Do you think Hotch will be angry if we get drunk twice on one case?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Technically, the case is over.” A grin tugs at his lips.

“Well, then…” Reid trails off, lets Sam make the next move. True enough, Sam grabs the half-empty bottle and pours them two generous glasses.

“I’ve thought about your offer”, Sam says. “I… I really appreciate it, but I can’t do it right now. There’s some stuff I have to figure out first. Maybe after- after we get His grace out, if I still have the powers then, I could try… but not now.”

Reid nods. He had already expected the answer, and while the curious part of him is slightly disappointed, his profiler side is glad that Sam’s taking the time to think this through, especially after the revelation he got earlier. “It’s okay, take all the time you need. And, if you decide to never try it, that’s fine, too.”

Sam sends him a relieved little smile.

Silence settles, and only when Reid feels like Sam doesn’t want to add anything more does he speak up. “Did you know that Illinois was the first state to ratify the 13th amendment to abolish slavery?”

“Huh?” Sam looks up at Reid’s random comment, confusion on his face.

The agent ducks his head. “I find facts calming.” Blood rushes to his face.

“Did you know that the Highway Interstate System in Illinois covers 2,248.93 miles?”

Reid looks up sharply at Sam. No one ever answered his random facts with more random facts.

“I did, actually. The Interstate Highway with the longest section in Illinois is Interstate 57 with 358.57 miles.”

“And the shortest is Interstate 41 with only with only 0.9 miles.” Sam grins conspiratorially.

“Did you know that…” Reid leans forward, launches into a lengthy explanation which somehow moves from highways over railroads to the territorial behavior of the native American population in Illinois, while Sam listens with rapt attention, only throwing in a fact or a comment here and there.

When they land in a discussion about the classification of different American monsters, Reid finds himself wishing Morgan and Dean will take their time at the bar, so they can enjoy their relaxed and uninterrupted discussion just a little bit longer.

~*~

The bar Morgan picks out is just to Dean’s liking – not too fancy, but not that much of a wreck that nice girls avoid it. They settle at the bar and order their drinks.

“Hell of a day, huh?”, Morgan asks. Dean shoots him his best ‘cut-the-crap’-look. The agent grins.

“How’s Sam doing?”

“Peachy.” Dean gratefully accepts the glass placed in front of him and takes a sip.

“And how are you doing?”

“I’m fine”, he growls. Truth be told, he’s a lot of things right now, but none of them are fine. Still, nosy agents are the last thing he needs right now. “Did you come here to profile me or to drink?”

Morgan holds up a hand in surrender. Dean sips on his drink, eyes drawn to a pretty brunette walking past him. The agent follows his gaze.

“Not bad.”

“I call dibs.”

Morgan stares at Dean. “Seriously? How old are you, twelve?”

“Oh, believe me, none of what I’m thinking about is appropriate for a twelve-year-old.” He grins, and Morgan can’t help but grin back, shaking his head.

“Need a wing-man?”

“Do I…” Dean shakes his head, faking insult. “Watch and learn, buddy, watch and learn.” He winks at the agent and saunters over to the ladies. Showtime.

~*~

Prentiss sinks into the chair heavily, blowing out a breath. Hotch closes the conference room door before sitting down next to her.

He doesn’t have to wait for more than a moment before she opens her mouth.

“Do you ever feel like we make an even bigger mess instead of cleaning it up?”

Hotch has to hide a wince. He thinks back to Foyet, to a bus full of people – dead, because he turned down a deal. “Sometimes”, he admits. “We did close the case.”

“Yes. Lewis is dead, the demon, too, hopefully.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do. We arrest criminals, not play judge, jury and executioner.”

“It wasn’t even an execution, he was tortured to death.” Emily pinches the bridge of her nose. “I know he wasn’t innocent – he stalked Amanda Williams, summoned the demon, maybe even participated in the killings. But nobody deserves that.”

For once, Hotch doesn’t have any good advice.

~*~

Rossi and JJ look up when Garcia walks into their conference room, smiling. She drops a bunch of files on the table.

“Hello my furry friends! Is Henry feeling better?”, she asks.

“Yes, he is. We all finally got to sleep through the night.”

“How was the case?”, Rossi asks. “Did we miss anything interesting?”

“Not really”, Garcia says wryly. “Sam can throw demons across the room without touching them and Reid and Hotch met the King of Hell. Business as usual.”

“What?!” JJ and Rossi gape at her, and she just winks, grins and saunters out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end of the second story. Thank you all for reading and for all your support! I will also answer to your comments eventually, but RL has been crazy these last weeks... That also means that it's gonna take me some time before I start posting the next part of the series, sorry! But I have big plans, I'm picking up where I left off with Sam's many issues (poor guy), and JJ and Rossi are also showing up again :)


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